The Virginia Gazette

To the Author of the Whitehall Evening-Post.

SIR,

THE following little Piece was writ by a Cleryman, well known and esteem'd by the Men of Genius of his Time. He was too sensible of the Power of that Spleen, he has here given us a Sketch of; nor were there wanting Circumstances in his Life, to heighten and improve that Disposition. You will observe the last Eight Lines are said to be finished by Mr. POPE; but I think, they are rather Sentiments arising from reading the foregoing, than designed as a Part of the Poem itself. They have in them the Master-Strokes of that excellent Writer. I much applaud your inserting Entertainments of this Kind in your Paper; which must soon distinguish it from the dry Repetitions of Occurrences, which generally scarce any one is concern'd to know; and as I have many other little elegant Pieces, of Persons of the first Class, I shall now and then lend you One, to aid your Design.

I am,

Your constant Reader,

A. Z.

A Fit of the Spleen.

In Imitation Of SHAKESPEARE.

A constant Vapour o'er the Palace flies:
Strange Phantoms rising as the Mists arise:
Dreadful, as Hamlet's Dreams in haunted Shades.
Rape of the Lock.

FAREWELL, vain World, and thou its vainest Part,
O lovely Woman! famed for Man's Destruction!
Beauty like Night made to the teeming Wife,
If seen gives Wishes restless, endless Longings;
If tasted. Death: -Too hard Decree of Fate,
That Life must be a Burthen, or must end!
Farewell, vain World, Dwelling of Ills, and Fears,
Full of fond Hopes, false Joys, and sad Repentance;
For tho' sometimes warm Fancy lights a Fire,
That mounting upwards darts its pointed Head
Up, thro' the unopposing Air to Heav'n,
Yet then comes Thought, Consideration cold,
Lame Afterthought with endless Scruples big,
Benumm'd with Fears, to damp the goodly Blaze.
Farewell, vain World; --- yet e'er I die, I'll find
Contentment's Seat, unknown to Guilt, or Sorrow:
Haste then, for nimble Death pursues me close,
Methinks I hear his Steps, tho' trod in Air;
My fluttering Soul seems like a Bird entrapp'd;
That beats his Wings against the Prison Walls
And fain wou'd be at Liberty again:
And oft the Death-Watch with ill-boding Beats
Hath warned me that my Time wou'd soon expire;
And that Life's Thread, ne'er to be wound up more,
Would by the Spring of Fate be quickly drawn
To its full Stretch.--Haste then, and let me find
A Shelter, that may shut out Noise and Light,
Save one dim Taper, whose neglected Snuff,
Grown higher than the Flame, shall with its Bulk
Almost extinguish it; ---no Noise be there,
But that of Water, ever Friend to Thought.
Hail, gloomy Shade, th' Abode of Modesty,
Void of Deceit;---no glittering Objects here
Dazzle the Eyes: And thou, delightful Silence,
Silence, the great Divinity's Discourse,
The Angel's Language, and the Hermit's Pride,
The Help of waking Wisdom, and its Food;
In Thee Philosophers have justly plac'd
The sovereign God, free from the broken Vows,
The Calumnies, Reproaches, and the Lies,
Of which the noisy, bubbling World complains.

Finished by Mr. POPE.

What are the falling Rills, the pendant Shades,
The Morning Bowers, the Evening Colonnades,
But soft Recesses for th' uneasy Mind
To sigh unseen into the passing Wind?
So the struck Doe, in some sequester'd Part,
Lies down to die, the Arrow in her Heart;
There hid in Shades, and waiting Day by Day,
Inly she bleeds, and pants her Soul away.